


let the wind rush

by Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsmooch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-28
Updated: 2009-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-04 00:02:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This," Rodney said, chafing his hands in a futile attempt to get his circulation going again, "is quite possibly the most ridiculous escape we have ever undertaken."</p>
            </blockquote>





	let the wind rush

**Author's Note:**

> For Cathalin.

"This," Rodney said, chafing his hands in a futile attempt to get his circulation going again, "is quite possibly the most ridiculous escape we have ever undertaken."

"Rodney—"

"And _yes_, it's even more ridiculous than that time with the camels, because frankly the indignity of being spat at is nothing compared to an uncontrolled launch into _space_."

"We're not exactly in space, Rodney." John was leaning against the wickerwork walls of the basket, looking down at the brown and blue landscape slipping away beneath them. This high up, the wind and the speed of their passage were one and the same, ruffling John's hair and making the thin cotton of his t-shirt ripple where it lay against his belly. "Only a couple hundred feet up."

"Two hundred feet or two miles," Rodney pointed out in what he thought was a rather restrained tone, all things considered, "it's amazing how much the human body still has a propensity to go _splat_."

"You know," John said mildly, cocking an eyebrow, "you want, I could set you back down and you can take your chances on the river."

"There are _leeches_ in that water." Rodney shuddered—the green flowing waters of the Merek River might have given them the most direct way back to the stargate, to Teyla and Ronon and safety, but Rodney was very much of the opinion that it was important that his circulatory system remain unbreached by things with suckers for mouths.

"Then it's a good thing there aren't so many flying leeches, huh?" John leaned over to check the level of fuel in the tank; adjusted a little the roaring flame that was pushing them onwards and upwards over the range of hills, suspended beneath the red and gold balloon.

"You are _impossible._"

"Maybe." John slumped back against Rodney, solid and warm along Rodney's side. He was grinning: the curve of his smile sharpened by the adrenaline of the chase, broadened by the knowledge that the wind was lifting them up and carrying them home. "But you think I'm hot."

In spite of the cold, Rodney could feel his cheeks heat. "I thought we agreed that whatever happens while under the influence of unwittingly ingested drugs should stay..." He flapped a hand irritably at John. "Whatever, yes, yes, please take it as read that you're my, my obnoxiously hot _whatever_, and you successfully found us a means of transportation back to the gate, cookies for you, and by all means let us ignore the possibility of death by pancake and that I am _freezing_."

John shrugged, all Johnny-Cash nonchalance. "Glad we're on the same page."

"I hate you," Rodney groaned, but he didn't object when John took his hands and warmed them between his own; he didn't object when John gently pressed his wind-chapped lips against Rodney's own. This wasn't hate, what they were, never hate: it was the flicker-flare of heat in the middle of a cold place, two bodies pressed warm together, Rodney's mouth opening beneath John's.

"This the part where I make a really bad pun about you and hot air, right?" John murmured against Rodney's mouth, and laughed, and kissed him again when Rodney rolled his eyes. He kissed him while the wind drew them on, over the low hills to where their home was waiting: kept them floating free, borne up by a great red globe under a clear blue sky.


End file.
